The Ledge
by InsectEye
Summary: Climate fiction Harry Potter set in post-natural disaster world where the wizards go into hiding. Reviews appreciated. I do not own Harry Potter. Thank you.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Harry sat on the train. He listened to the wheels skim silently over the metal tracks and the rattling sound of the rest of the train's old and beaten body. He looked out the window. The dry landscape rushed by. The grass was brown. The houses were black as though they had been burnt in a recent fire. The sky was grey. A storm was coming. The air Harry breathed into his lungs was hot and dry, as though sucking the moisture out of his body and leaving him flat and empty. Beside him, Ginny massaged her clitoris. Averting his eyes, Harry looked at the floor. It was grimy with dirt and filth and the remains of dead cockroaches. Ginny moaned but Harry ignored her. The train sped on.

Harry could see no people. Everywhere was deserted. As they passed a larger village, Harry wondered who had lived there. Had they liked it? What had happened to them? But there was no use wondering what had happened to them. Harry knew the answer to that. It was the same thing that had happened to him. Everyone was on the run.

They passed as station but the train didn't stop. Harry felt hollow. A slight feeling of nausea encroached on his stomach. He decided not to look out the window but instead stare straight ahead. The walls of the train were once white. The paint had peeled. They weren't white anymore.

Harry heard a whimper from a nearby seat. He looked over to find who it had come from. It was Uncle Vernon. Alone. Harry rose from his seat. Slowly he walked over towards his uncle. Vernon whimpered again. His face was large but not pink as it had used to be. His skin was a sallow sickly grey. His entire body was wet. It was sweat. Repulsed and intrigued, Harry peered closer. Vernon had his eyes closed.

Harry returned to his seat. The motion of the train rocked him back and forth, as if lulling him into a primordial sleep. Harry slept. He did not know for how long. He opened his eyes. The train was groaning to a halt. They had arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Ginny stepped off the train. They were alone on the station. Hot air swirled around them, rippling through their lose clothes, sapping away any sweat. The signs on the train station were faded and the paint was peeling. They were remnants of the world that was lost, and the lives they had lost with it. They left the station and began to walk to their new village.

The road was cracked and dry. Ahead of them, Harry could see the air gently rippling in a mirage. He was thirsty but they had no water. For hours they walked, not speaking or looking at each other. There was no need to. They reached the village.

It was small and old. There were not houses, rather one storey buildings had been erected, each with a single room. The shops were older. They were a reminder of the lives they had all left behind. Harry could imagine how young witches and wizards, like he himself once had been, might have visited them. They walked on and rounded the corner.

As they approached the room where they were to live, Harry noticed a familiar figure seated on the small balcony of the room next door to his. Sybil Trelawney was seated on a wicker chair, her black lace shawl hung limp over her spindly frame. She was leant back and had her mouth slightly open. She did not look at them as they passed.

Harry put the key into the rusty key hole and turned. The door creaked loudly on its hinges as it opened. The room smelt old and musty but Harry liked the smell. It was the smell of old books. The white light flickered as it illuminated the yellow sickly skin of his wife. Her red hair hung loosely from her face, unwashed and unbrushed. Harry removed his clothing slowly. Ginny did the same.

Harry lowered his body onto the lumpy mattress, his penis erect. Ginny mounted him. The bed creaked underneath them rythmically as the moved. Harry closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt his penis enter Ginny's vagina, and then leave it again. He groaned loudly as he expelled his seed deep into her moist and wet body. Her wetness was his saviour in the land of dry and hot. Ginny breathed deeply but did not reach the pleasure she so longed for. She stood up and lay down on the bed beside her husband, making sure that none of their flesh touched. Harry's eyes closed their heavy lids. He slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Ginny awoke at night. The air was finally cool and they could hear noises outside. Peering through the flimsy fabric of the curtains, Harry could see wizards dueling, the light from their wands flashing in his face. He stepped outside. Ginny cautioned him to stay away but Harry wasn't interested in listening to his wife's words. Harry sat down on the veranda. He noticed the dead plants in front of his room and the yellowed lawn. Despite the weather, the plants outside Sybil Trelawney's house were lush and green. They were the only green he had seen for months. He went back to bed.

The next morning, Harry went to the shop for some food. Tom, the man who had once run The Leaky Cauldron now served in an equally dingy shop. Harry bought bread and corn. Then he went to the registration office. He took his ticket and waited to be served. As he waited he watched the ceiling fan revolve. It was slow.

He was served by a young and reasonably attractive witch. If Harry was younger he may have been interested in her. But Harry did not care about such things anymore. He signed up to manually work the fields. He put his wife's name down for an office job. Secretarial work where she could keep busy. Once the business was over, Harry began to walk home.

His mind was restless. He was anxious. He passed some wizards pouring concrete. He found that interesting. When he reached his room he fed his wife the bread. He would start work the next day. He was ready.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry went to work the next morning. He would be manually ploughing the fields. No magic. The wizards didn't use magic much anymore. Magic had failed them. Harry liked the work. It kept his mind off things. The dry wheat whipped around his legs sharply. The brown earth nestled in between his toes. His back ached and he was sweating profusely. Still he ploughed.

The evenings were dull. His wife would return before sundown, having finished cataloging the supplies for the day. Sometimes they would have sex. Sometimes not. Most wizards lived this way, stumbling through life. The pub was very popular. Many of them would drink away their sorrows. The days rolled by passively. Sometimes Harry heard noises from next door. Guttural moans of pleasure, but he had never seen a man or woman enter Trelawney's room.

Harry ploughed as the hot sun beamed down upon his once pale skin. It had browned and developed a coarse texture. He could tell that Ginny did not like to touch it. It would nearly be summer, and he dreaded the thought. Harry could hardly believe that the sun could get hotter than it already was. He kept moving steadily. He thought about the clouds, lying low in the sky. Harry swallowed and his saliva burned his parched throat. He tasted blood in his mouth.

He did not know for how long he worked. It was easy to lose track of the time. The air became think and hard to breathe. His blood felt thick. His heart beat fast. Harry collapsed soundlessly. Nobody saw it happen. He lay on the ground immobile. Time passed.

When Harry awoke he was wet but it had not rained. It was not sweat either. He looked around. The moon was rising and the stars twinkled at him. He cursed at them. They mocked him. Ginny would be wondering where he was. He looked down at his hand. Strange black circles had appeared on it. He touched the circles. They appeared to be tattoos. Harry could see nobody around him. He returned to his room. He did not answer Ginny when she asked where they came from.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry abruptly awoke in the field the next day. It was dark. It was late. Ginny would be wondering where he was. He suddenly realized he was still in the middle of the field. He swore loudly and an owl from a nearby tree hooted and flew away. He walked back to his room. Harry felt cold even though all the air around him was hot. He shivered.

He tried to remember what had happened to him in the field. He couldn't. His mind was empty. He felt lost. Harry decided not to tell Ginny about what had happened. It was a stressful time for all of them and it was best not to worry her even more. She didn't ask where he was when he arrived home. He ate his bread in silence, the dry flour sticking to the inside of his throat and mixing with his saliva to create a cement-like texture. He tried to swallow it down.

Ginny went to bed and left Harry alone. He didn't mind, he liked to be alone. Outside there were more raised voices, but Harry knew it was just something they would have to get used to, especially as summer approached. Everyone was as tired as he was. He sat on a moldy, mothball-ridden sofa. The window glass was surprisingly clear.

Harry choked. Perhaps it was the flour from his bread. His heart raced and his throat burned. Leaning over, Harry coughed and heaved onto the ground. Unable to dislodge what was stuck, he coughed and coughed again. Harry felt something slimy fly through his mouth and heard it land on the floor in front of him with a thud. He relaxed and adjusted his glasses. Harry looked down at what had landed on the floor. It was a fish. A raw fish. With green and silver scales that glinted in the moonlight. Harry raised his hand to his throat in horror. He did not understand.

As much as it looked as though it would make a good meal, Harry did not want to eat the fish. Trying to be as soundless as possible, he left his room with his shovel. He buried the fish in a hole just in front of his balcony.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry worked in the fields for a month. Summer had arrived and it had taken its toll on the wizards and witches of the village. Even the most unsociable among them would venture outside to the pub, as it was the only place to cool down. Once, there had been two pubs in the village, but now there was just one. Occasionally, a Muggle would stumble into the village. But the magic folk didn't mind that much. All the Muggles knew what they were these days, and would sometimes make quite good company. Good company was hard to come by. Tempers frayed in the heat and it was not uncommon to find a dead body in the morning, after a long night of drinking away the collective sorrow. The last dead body to be found was that of Gileroy Lockhart. Some of the witches pitied him, after all his memory had never returned. Many wizards did not bother to waste their energy feeling sorry for others.

Harry was tired. The strangle black circles on his hand had thickened. He didn't care. He lived together with Ginny relatively comfortably. There had been rumours that Ginny had been spotted sleeping with one of the Muggles who had stayed a few nights. Harry didn't blame her. Occasionally he walked around the village where they lived. But not often. He did not like to socialize.

Next door, Professor Trelawney kept to herself. Ginny convinced Harry that he should go and check on her every so often, to see how she was coping. Ginny didn't think she was taking it well. Harry knocked on her door. She answered immediately, as though she had been waiting for him to arrive. Or perhaps she had foreseen it. Her eyes looked frightened, magnified in her round glasses. Her frame was spindly as ever. She served him watery tea and they talked. Harry lost track of the time. It wasn't a particularly stimulating conversation. Perhaps he would come back another day and finish it. Trelawney closed the door heavily behind him.

The next day Harry went back into the fields. The forest surrounding them was becoming wilder and wilder each day. Harry dared not venture in there. He had heard stories about it. He licked his dry lips and tasted the air. Something was going to happen soon. He could feel it in his bones. His heart pumped a little faster. For every day the next week Harry awoke expectantly. But whatever he had thought would happen had not eventuated yet. No matter, life was long.


	7. Chapter 7

A storm came. A cold wind whipped the stagnant air of the village, rustling old copies of the Daily Prophet that had been kept for sentimental values. The sky darkened. Grey, malevolent clouds filled the sky. A sense of unease grew. The sound of thunder, pierced by the screams of children. The glints of lightening, making the air buzz with power. And then the rain. It rained and rained. It was almost as though you could hear the dry grass that had ached through the heat sigh with relief. Lightning struck many places in the village, including in the forest nearby where Harry worked in the fields. And then the storm stopped nearly as abruptly as it had started, and the village was stagnant once more. The energy had disappeared.

The fields where Harry worked were better for the rain. He harvested a lot of wheat for the flour for their bread. He liked his work. It kept his eyes open, with their heavy lids and misty gaze. He touched his face. His hands felt his coarse skin and his tired, sweaty brow. He felt tired in his very bones. His legs went weak and wobbly. His knees buckled. He collapsed into the ground. He felt the earth beneath him.

When Harry awoke, he was lying in a field of snow. His eyes blinked confusedly behind his glasses. There were no crops in the field anymore. He heard voices nearby. Happy voices. His head ached. He didn't understand what was going on. He tried to walk but he was too weak. His stomach lurched and gurgled. Inside, it felt like a turbulent raging sea. He emptied it's meagre contents on the ground next to him and sat down as his nausea subsided with slow relief. He shivered. He hadn't felt this cold in years. Harry collapsed again tiredly into the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

When Harry awoke he was back in the field again. Dry and hot. It was nighttime and owls hooted from nearby. Harry thought he heard footsteps in the crops. He lay flat on the ground, his heart racing. He held his breath nervously. But nobody came. Harry felt frightened like he hadn't in years. He walked home, heart in his mouth. He met a few people along the way, and a few puzzled glances, but Harry did not tell them what had happened to him. When he reached his room he collapsed into bed without any dinner.

The next morning, Harry awoke late. He had overslept. Ginny seemed concerned and made him stay home for a day. Harry felt bitter. He liked working in the fields and didn't like to stay at home. To ease his mind, he went next door to visit Trelawney. She seemed as old as ever, staring out at him through her orb-like irises, magnified by her enormous glasses. He drunk the weak tea and listened to her babbling. She fiddled with the black beads on her necklaces and the rings on her knobbly fingers. She stood up as Harry went to leave. Then he noticed it. Her stomach was different. He wondered if she was pregnant, but thought that this seemed absurd. Harry returned to his room and slept.

When he awoke it was still daytime. He felt disoriented. Ginny had cooked something. He picked at it, aware of her gaze on his head. She didn't say what she was thinking. Harry went outside to sit on the veranda and Ginny joined him. He let his head rest upon her shoulder in an odd moment of tenderness. She stroked his straw-like unwashed hair with her hand and her gold wedding ring glinted in the fading light. Harry didn't know how long they sat there for. He lost track of the time.

Eventually, Ginny began to speak. She talked of trivial things, but Harry knew she was thinking of the life they could have led. He thought of it too. Perhaps they would have had children, watched them go off to Hogwarts. Now they just had each other. But it was enough. These days you had to make do with enough.

Ginny brightly remarked to Harry how nice it was that they had a plant growing at the end of their balcony. Harry hadn't really been paying attention, and it took a while for the unlikelyness of these words to sink in. He looked up and stared. There indeed was a small sliver of green growing triumphantly through the brown grass and dirt. Harry's heart skipped a beat. It was growing directly above the hole in which he had buried the fish.


	9. Chapter 9

When he felt better, Harry went to work in the fields again. He enjoyed being able to take his mind off things. Sometimes he thought about the plant growing at the end of his balcony, but he did not dwell on this. Sometimes he wondered about Sybil Trelawney. There were wild rumours about her. But he wasn't very interested. He left the gossiping to his wife. For days he worked, without a care in the world.

It was mid afternoon when it happened. His legs went weak. He collapsed. Harry felt the cold snow around his body. He vomited and stood up. His head swam but he was determined not to pass out. He walked a few steps tentatively. He couldn't see the fields anymore. They were covered in snow, and Harry had the faint idea that there actually weren't any crops under the snow beneath his feet. He heard a voice and moved quickly to stand behind a thick tree. He tried to keep as quiet as possible. The voices were coming towards him. There were two, a male voice and a female voice. He listened intently. There was something about the male voice that sounded familiar. Something in its pompous drawl that stirred a memory from deep inside him. A memory from his past.

The answer came to him like being struck by lightning. The voice he could hear now was that of Percy Weasley. And the female voice was his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. But Harry didn't understand. He had not seen Percy or Penelope in these parts for years. Cautiously he snuck a look at the couple from around the tree. They were alone, sitting together, each adorned in their Hogwarts school uniforms. Harry could even see the red and yellow scarf around Percy's cold neck. Harry felt as though he was going to black out.


	10. Chapter 10

When Harry awoke he walked slowly back to his room. In his mind, thoughts of what had just happened stewed inside his head. He tried to keep his hands from shaking. He didn't want to look out of place. Ginny wasn't there when he arrived. He switched the flickering lights on. From underneath the bed, he pulled out his old trunk. It was worn and shabby. From inside the trunk, he extracted his invisibility cloak. It had been years since he had worn it. He no longer felt the need. These days, the wizards didn't worry about this kind of secrecy anymore. Not when all their secrets were out. Harry wiped the layer of dust off the cloak and held it up. It still fitted him. He put it in his bag. He had decided that he would be taking it with him to the fields now.

Harry walked quickly back to the fields and resumed his work. He worked quickly, almost as if trying to tire himself out. But his attempts were in vain. He did not return to the snow-covered landscape. Harry was quiet over dinner. He didn't want to talk to anyone about it. He ate half-heartedly. The night came silently, and Ginny left for bed. Harry sat alone on the balcony. He could hear the smashing of bottles and raised voices from the pub. He watched as Trelawney limped up to her room and opened the door. Perhaps he was mistaken but he thought her stomach was getting bigger.

He awoke to Ginny's cry of surprise the next morning. He wiped his groggy eyes and put on his glasses. Slowly the scene began to focus. He looked for Ginny. His eyes found her. He looked past her. His heart beat fast. It was so unlikely. There, at the bottom of the balcony, where only yesterday a small blade of green had sat, stood a medium sized tree. Its bright green leaves stood out conspicuously against the yellowy brown backdrop of dead grass. It was the only green in the entire village, save for the grass outside Trelawney's. It was certainly the only tree in the entire village. Harry walked up to it, and felt the leaves with his fingers. They certainly felt real. He ran his fingertips over the bark, which had a rough yet friendly texture. Smiling, he noticed the tree was budding. It would soon flower.

Harry went back to the fields that day feeling good. It was almost as though the tide had turned. Life had returned to the village. It reminded him of the way things used to be when he was young. The halcyon days where the heat was rare and the air was sweetly perfumed. Suddenly he understood. He knew what was happening to him every time he awoke in the snow. With the invisibility cloak inside his bag, he was ready.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was ready this time. He almost welcomed the nausea as he again, emptied his stomach onto the snow. Carefully standing up, he took the invisibility cloak out from his bag and put it on. He left the bag on the ground. Walking as quietly as he could, Harry set off. He knew where to go. He walked past the Shrieking Shack and past the Hog's Head. How different it looked now that Tom was running it. He walked past the Three Broomsticks, which had long since closed in his time. But not in this one. He sat on a bench and waited. He knew what he was waiting for. Harry had never felt so excited in his life.

He didn't have to wait too long. From his seat he saw the slow trickle of Hogwarts students excitedly filling the village. He waited a little longer, and there he was. The young Harry Potter. Carefree and innocent, flanked by Ron and Hermione. They were laughing as they strode into the Three Broomsticks, blissfully unaware of their futures. Harry followed them in the invisibility cloak. He sat on the floor near their table and listened to them talk. He watched as Hermione hid Harry under the table when his old teachers and the Minister for Magic came in to discuss Sirius Black. Harry's heart burned as he heard his name. But Sirius would be old if he were alive now. Perhaps it was better that in Harry's memory, he was always the young and handsome man he knew as his godfather.

Eventually, Harry grew tired of watching his younger self. He left the Three Broomsticks and made his way to the Honeydukes cellar. Once there he began the long walk through the passageway to the castle. Still underneath the invisibility cloak, Harry climbed out at the statue and into Hogwarts castle.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry breathed the cool air deeply into his lungs. It was exhilarating. He felt alive. He made his way through the castle to the Gryffindor common room. Even after all this time, he knew the way there as though it was only yesterday. He weaved through the ancient corridors, occasionally stopping to look into an empty classroom. When he finally arrived he was greeted by the once-familiar sight of the Fat Lady, looking particularly disgruntled. Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to take the cloak off, so in the end he decided to wait for another student to enter.

For the first time in years he felt truly happy. It was as though his old home had sparked a new life into him. As Lavender Brown climbed through the portrait hole, Harry followed. He walked past the armchairs and the warm and inviting fire and up the staircase to his dormitory. He sank down happily into his bed. It was warm and inviting. Harry was tired, and so longed to go to sleep but knew that he must resist. If he slept, he would return to the present. So he sat. Time passed. He was disturbed from his thoughts by the scratching sound of Scabbers, looking extremely disheveled. Harry's scar prickled for the first time in years. The sensation felt almost unnatural. He thought, perhaps... But no, Hermione had warned him not to meddle with time. So he let it be.

The afternoon drew on and he knew that his younger self would be arriving back at the castle soon. He climbed back out the portrait hole and paced around the corridors. He caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He turned. Ginny. The younger, happier version of his wife. He stood, transfixed. He wanted to speak to her, but knew it was impossible.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry walked on, and into the night. He was growing tireder and tireder. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist much longer. He wanted to stay, maybe forever, but knew that he didn't belong in this time. He had once, but he wasn't the same person anymore. Harry walked. His legs were wobbly. He collapsed to the ground, causing a suit of armor beside him to come clattering down with a deafening smash. His mind grew black. The last thing he heard was Filch screeching at a non-existent Peeves.

Harry wasn't in the fields when he awoke. He stood up, sweating profusely. The climbed over some rubble. The ground beneath him was charred and black. Harry knew the way back, since he had walked these paths before. Many years before. Harry looked out onto the lake, where the giant squid had once swam. He wondered if the merpeople where still there. He didn't feel like investigating. His eyes watered as he gazed at the rubble around him. He knew what had happened of course. Muggle weapons were no more dangerous than those of the wizards, but no wizard was game to repair it. There was no use anymore. Hogwarts was dead. His home was lost forever.

Harry walked up the road, not paying attention to his surroundings. He could feel the heat, beaming down on him from an inconsiderate sun. Thankfully, Ginny didn't ask any questions when he got back. Not even where his bag was, or why he had his invisibility cloak. Harry watched her as she prepared his meal. Her face was tired and slightly drawn, with creases creeping into it. Her hair was more rusty than bright these days. She didn't deserve this life. That night he kissed her and they made love. Not impersonally like usual, but passionately and with feeling.


	14. Chapter 14

When Harry arrived at the fields the next day, he found his bag. It was no longer newly stiched as he has left it back in the past, but worn and degraded. The fabric was taught and flimsy between his fingers. Harry sighed as he shoved the invisibility cloak inside it and got to work. His mind was content this time. The thoughts that had plagued him for years had dissolved. The guilt that ate away at his mind was now a memory, washed away by his visit to the past. He did not black out that day, and was still slightly disappointed, but on the whole unsurprised. He returned to his room with a spring in his step, confident that for once, he had done a good days work.

The tree at the end of their balcony was flowering now. It's bright green leaves punctured by deep pink flowers. Harry reached out and touched one. It felt slimy. The petals were numerous, all bunched together around the yellow stamen bearing the pollen. It struck Harry that the flowers were the colour of blood.

Summer faded and autumn dawned. Everyone was relieved, the nights were becoming cooler and more bearable. The tensions and tempers which had flared and frayed over summer mellowed and eventually, they too faded. Trelawney was definitely pregnant. It was the talk of the town, but for all the gossip, nobody knew who the father of the child was. Nobody had ever seen anyone enter her house, save for Harry and Ginny. Harry didn't care about this idle gossip. He relished his time in the fields, especially the days when he could return to his past. He had taken to following himself around. Or sometimes he would follow Ginny. He had thought about visiting Dobby in the kitchens, or maybe the Room of Requirement, but had deemed both things too dangerous. He knew that he mustn't be found.

More Muggles came to their village. Some came in anger, and some wizards died. Most came to talk. To drown their sorrows. Humanity faced the same problems now days, Muggle or wizard. Harry wondered where Hermione had got to. He hadn't seen her for years. That night, there was a bright light visible in the sky. Harry joined the group staring up at it. Aliens, they thought. Harry wasn't so sure.

The next morning Harry went to work in the fields. He felt good. His arms were getting muscular. His mind sharper. It was just after midday when it happened. The sky clouded once again. Harry waited for the gentle release of the rain to soak his flesh. But it didn't come. Instead, there was something different.


	15. Chapter 15

Something slapped Harry's face. It stung momentarily. He looked down at what it was. It was a fish. A raw green fish. It's scales flashed in the dim light. Harry picked it up. It was warm and slimy between his coarse fingers. Around him, more fish fell. Sometimes one of them would hit him and bounce off. It hurt and scratched his face. He walked back to the village. His head ached, perhaps it was something to do with the fish.

The village was abuzz. The fish were being collected and cooked. It was almost like a giant communal dinner. Everyone was there, even Trelawney. Harry was happy. The fish was nice. It was not so often that everyone came together over a happy occasion such as this. It was a nice change to the bread he'd been eating. He sat with his wife, and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. He felt it's weight upon him and he was surprised to find that he thought it felt nice. Heavy but not too much so.

He woke late the next day. Ginny wasn't home. This was unusual. He staggered out onto the balcony and he heard yells as his eyes adjusted. People were cheering and shouting. Harry couldn't believe his eyes. The ground, once dry and limp, devoid of life, was now lush and green. It had happened overnight. Harry laughed along with the others. In the face of all that was happening, the almost intolerable heat, something truly unexpected had happened.

When Harry returned from the fields that day, he sat on his balcony to drink in the splendor of it all. A bird flew down and perched on the railing. It twittered merrily. The gossamer black feathers shone in the moonlight. Harry scratched a black circle on his arm as he watched it. Then it flew away, soundlessly. The leaves on the tree ruffled slightly from its wingbeats. And then all was still. Harry gazed up at the moon. It was bright as ever, an elusive orb forever hanging just out of reach. He wondered what the moon thought of the Earth and it's inhabitants. He wondered if it felt sorrow, watching the Earth die in fire. But perhaps it is better to burn out. The moon was, of course, indifferent to all this. It was only a moon after all.

The next morning Harry noticed the flowers on the tree were wilting. He touched one and instantly recoiled. It was slimy. It smelt awful. Harry shoved his invisibility cloak into the old bag and set off. He scratched his arm. He ground beneath him was springy, a welcome change from the usual dry crackling. He was hot but he didn't care. When he began work his vision began to blur. His knees buckled beneath his heavy frame. He waited for the darkness. He was ready. This time he knew what he was going to do. He was ready, eager, to go back to the Hogwarts of his past. There was somebody he wanted to talk to. He hoped it would bring him answers, but he doubted it.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry walked towards the castle briskly and with purpose. It was late afternoon. This time, he didn't seek out himself. He didn't want to watch Professor Lupin's lesson and nor did he want to watch Ginny. He stopped when he arrived at the gargoyle. It would look suspicious, an invisible Harry whispering the names of assorted sweets to a gargoyle, but Harry was going to take that risk. It took him fifteen minutes. The gargoyle sprang to life and he ascended the staircase. When he reached the top he pushed open the heavy door.

For a while, Harry simply stood there, motionless. He wanted to take in the scene before he revealed himself. It was exactly as he remembered. The silvery objects whirring quietly, the previous headmasters dozing in their portraits, the crimson phoenix on its perch behind the desk. Harry could even see the sorting hat sitting upon a shelf, and the pensive emitting it's haunting silvery glow. Then he looked at the man behind the desk. His half moon glasses resting atop his crooked nose. Harry smiled and removed the invisibility cloak.

"Hello Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. He smiled. "I can't say that I have been expecting you. This time you really have caught me by surprise."

Harry grinned back at the familiar face. Then he realised he didn't exactly know what to say. It had been so long, so many years since they had had contact. So much had changed in the world. So much had changed in himself. He had changed.

He explained to Dumbledore. He told him how he had married Ginny, late one afternoon. How the wedding was beautiful, small and quiet. The last time he could remember everyone happy together. How they were living at Hogsmede.

"But Harry, you haven't explained everything have you?" said Dumbledore. He examined Harry quizzically.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry knew this to be true. But he didn't quite know where to begin. It was a long story. How the Muggle prime minister had contacted the Ministry about some problem he called climate change and global warming. How he had begged the Minister of Magic to do something about it, to fix it. How the Ministryand all other magical governments worldwide had refused. It wasn't that they didn't want to help, it was that they couldn't. The world became hotter. Weather events became more extreme. Magic and non-magic blood was spilled. Wizards were angry that their magic couldn't fix it. Magic had failed them. Many gave up their magic entirely and lived as Muggles. Life was easier that way.

But the Muggles found out. The Wizarding world was no longer a secret. They were angry. There was war. It was bitter. In the end it got so hot that everyone gave up on fighting. Everyone had the same problem. It was useless to lay blame. How ironic that the very thing that united humanity was the thing that would likely destroy it.

All of this Harry explained to Dumbledore.

"What about Hogwarts, Harry?" He asked quietly after a moment of silence.

Harry swallowed. Then he told of its destruction. How the Muggles had dropped their bombs on it. How nobody was willing to rebuild it from the rubble. Hot tears slid down Harry's face as he explained. His body shuddered. He looked up at Dumbledore and saw that he too had watery eyes. But he gently patted Harry's shoulder and, with his voice of reason, assured him that there was nothing they could do about it.

"You're an old man now Harry," he said. "Much older than the boy I knew. But that isn't a bad thing. It just is."

Harry sat down.


	18. Chapter 18

They reminisced about the past. Harry was old now, not as old as Dumbledore, but still older than he ever had been. Much older than the boy he was all those years ago. They were equals now. Harry knew of Dumbledore's past just as Dumbledore knew of his. There were no secrets between them. Sometimes they laughed together. Harry liked these moments. He thought of how he had had Sirius as his godfather, how he thought that Sirius was the father he had never had. But he knew now that that was not really true. Even though he has hated him sometimes, it was Dumbledore who had been the fatherly figure.

Sometimes Dumbledore would have to remind Harry that it was time to go. Sometimes Harry didn't want to leave. It was easier this way. He knew the future. He knew what would happen. But he knew he couldn't stay. He knew that he would have to go back to Ginny, back to his world. Dumbledore knew this too. But Harry didn't really mind. He knew it was good.

Harry walked back to Hogsmede. He saw a butterfly and watched it. It danced poetically over the landscape. Every beat of its wings was like a crescendo of a symphony. He watched it defy gravity, unapologetically.

Harry slept well that night. He could feel the weight of Ginny next to him, but they did not touch. He felt good. He worked in the fields for weeks, occasionally returning to the past. He stood tall and proud of himself. He was not ashamed of who he was. He felt as though a weight that had swung in his chest for years was being lifted.

He lay down on the ground. He felt the earth beneath him, solid. He felt the plants around him and he felt them grow. Then he walked back.


	19. Chapter 19

Ginny kissed Harry's mouth. Harry kissed back. She was wet. The world was dry. She ran her fingers lightly over his chest. She was getting hot. He could feel her longing. Between his legs he moved. She was breathing quicker now. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him. And he wanted her too. His pulse quickened. He was desperate. They melted together. She moaned loudly. A primal urge gripped him. He wanted to feel pleasure, and he wanted her to feel it too. He wanted to give it to her.

They slept. And when they woke they were different. Not obviously different but they both knew. They were happier. They had each other back. It was alright again.

Harry worked long hours in the fields. He continued to return to the past, hidden from everyone but Dumbledore. Life was good. He was happy. He wanted to live like this forever. Of course, that was an impractical dream. It wouldn't happen. But he still dreamed. He scratched his arm absent mindly. The circles were spreading. Part of him was curious. But he didn't really care. Hermione would have cared. She would have looked up all the books to find out what it was. But Harry thought that even Hermione couldn't explain the things that were happening. He wondered where she was.

Harry walked around the village. The ground was cracked and dry beneath his feet. He passed rows of empty shops, some with lights on in the back rooms, others totally abandoned. The windows were grimy with dirt, the wood was old and dusty. Stoll Harry walked. He wasn't looking for anything in particular. Something caught his eye. It was the building which used to house the joke shop. It had long closed down, Harry could remember when it shut in the Dark Days. But those seemed an age ago. How things had changed. There was a light on in the shop. Harry peered through the window. It was hard to see but he thought it looked as though the shop had been converted into a makeshift library. Harry squinted and walked inside.

It was quiet. So quiet it was almost unnerving. He walked around the rows of books. All of them were quite old wizard's books. None of the Muggle literature that so many wizards of late had begun to embrace. The air had a warm and familiar smell of the musty book pages. Harry breathed it in deeply. He ran his fingers over the book spines. There were some that he recognized in the low light. Moste Potente Potions, the book Hermione had brewed polyjuice potion from in their second year at Hogwarts. Another by Bathilda Bagshot. The covers were faded and he could barely make out the words. He picked a random book off the shelf and opened it. The writing was faded but visible in black ink. He put it back with a sigh. These must be some of the last few copies of the wizard books, after the loss of so many from the burnings by the Muggles. But that was years ago. The Muggles had their forgiveness.

A floorboard creaked on the other side of the room. Harry tried to peer through the shelves to see who it was. The creaking came closer. Harry could hear his heart beating. He didn't know why he was afraid, maybe the instinct of being found in the Restricted Section of the library when he wasn't supposed to be there. He felt a hand on his back and almost jumped out of his skin. But it was a warm hand, kind. He tired around and faced a beaded man. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely from his muscular body. He spoke in a deep, accented voice. Harry's face split into a grin. It was Viktor Krum.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry greeted Krum like an old friend. After all, he was just that. There were no hard feelings between them. Krum was administering the library, although he never had much to administer. Nobody was interested in potion making or ancient spells these days. Not unless there was a spell to adjust the climate, but even the most celebrated magical historians knew of such a thing. Krum and Harry spoke for long hours. It was nice to have someone other than Ginny and Trelawney to talk to. Of course, there wereany other wizards and witches in the village he could have talked to, but they didn't really understand. Krum, however, did. Like Harry, he was once the hero. And, like Harry, he was now nobody. They bonded over their nothingness. Krum came back to Harry's room to eat bread with him and Ginny.

Harry went to work in the fields the next day as a happier man. For once he felt good. Everything was going to be alright. His mind was empty, a blank slate for his future to be written. And Harry was going to write it. He worked steadily for hours. When he tired he ate bread and drunk warm water from a bottle he had brought with him. He lay down and the crops sheltered him. His heartbeat slowed. He closed his eyes but he did not sleep. He surrendered.

Ginny seemed to be happy for Harry's newfound socializing. Instead of moping the night away, he walked down to the library to sit with Krum. They talked. Krum had thought Harry was good on a broomstick. He could have been professional, had there been different circumstances. But then again, so much could have happened under different circumstances. Sometimes they sat together in silence. But it was a full silence, not an empty one. A silence that conveyed the weariness of their souls more powerfully than words could. A silence which hung over them not as a bad omen, but as a blanket, blocking out the words they did not want to speak. They night clung to their bodies, the darkness caressed their souls tenderly. In the flickering candle-light, more truth passed between their lips than entire lifetimes.

The birds sang in the morning. It was not a happy song, nor was it sad. The voice of the bird was melancholy but the music it sung danced. It danced over the landscape, permeating into the cracks. It swelled and lulled. The haunting, lilting music of the birds broke the daylight, and as the eyelids wearily opened on many an old wizard, whose face was lined with wrinkles, his mouth opened too, into a wide crack and he smiled.


	21. Chapter 21

Despite their friendship, Harry never told Krum about his visits to the past while he was in the fields. Partly because he didn't think that Krum would believe him, and partly because he wanted to keep it to himself. It was his own secret, something shared between himself and Dumbledore, a reminder of what could have been, how they would have grown old together, two men who had been through so much. Harry treasured the time in the fields, for it had found him and bought him back to life. Once, Krum had asked Harry where Hermione was, but Harry said that he didn't know. He had not seen her for a while.

The sun beat down heat relentlessly. Harry was sweating profusely. The sky was grey and bland. He hoped it would rain today.

Trelawney was getting big. Her pregnant belly protruded from under her shawls and looked unnatural on her spindly body. She shuffled as she walked, not that she walked much. Harry and Ginny had gone to her room for dinner the previous night. She seemed older every time they visited. Her small wrists with black bangles that sat on the skin, pulled tight over the protruding bones. She was mumbling to herself. As she sat down, she grimaced visibly. Ginny looked at Harry worriedly. Harry didn't know what to think. He didn't know anything about pregnancy. The food they ate was bland. Harry swallowed it consciously. His throat was dry. As they ate, Ginny spoke quietly to Trelawney but Harry wasn't listening. He watched them vaguely, as though he was looking in at the scene from outside. He took it all in, the faded curtains, the sickly green walls, his wife's rusted hair.

Ginny screamed and he jumped out of his chair. Trelawney's waters broke. She had the baby.


	22. Chapter 22

Ginny visited Trelawney more often nowdays, to make sure that she was coping with the baby. She seemed to be managing alright, and Ginny was satisfied. Harry was spending more time alone, and also with Krum. He didn't mind.

Winter was drawing to a close and spring was rapidly approaching. Not that you'd know it. The seasons weren't like they used to be. Harry remembered that springtime used to mean the end of the snow, and as it melted, a greenery beneath shone out. The air became warmer and the breezes scented with the heady perfumes of sweet flowers. Life used to flourish in spring. It wasn't like that anymore. Now springtime was nearly indistinguishable from winter, save for the gradual heating as the days wore on.

And they did wear on. And the inhabitants of the village became restless. The strain of society was beginning to show. More drunken rowdiness than usual. More fights. Harry kept away from it all, as best he could. He had tried in the past year to blend himself in. To become a part of the Hogsmede village that was so nondescript that you didn't look twice. It was easier than he thought. The fame he had once had was now useless, his name was nothing but a faint memory, occasionally stirring in the eyes of the aged, only to fade away into darkness. He didn't mind. Life was simpler. He wasn't yet sure if simpler meant better.

He worked in the fields by day and drunk with Krum by night. He stretched his muscular arms and examined them. The markings on them were changing, forming some sort of pattern. He didn't know what it was. He ate his bread in silence. His head was alive with thought, restless.

He walked home from the fields on a day that resembled any others. He had hoped to return to the past, but the feeling didn't come. He was trapped in his present, at least for now. He unlocked the door to his room and pushed open the door. It creeked on its hinges. Ginny wasn't home yet. He ate some bread and sat outside on his balcony, feeling the air on his face. As the evening wore on, it became delightfully cooler. He noticed some people walking up the road, it was too far away to see who they were. Harry closed his eyes. Perhaps he would dream.

He sat. Time passed. He heard footsteps. The gentle crunch of shoes on the small pebbles that made up the road. They grew closer. The people were entering the room next to his. He heard them fumble for their keys. He pushed himself out of his slouch and craned his neck to see who they were.

The figures knew he was looking at them. They glanced at him briefly, as though if they looked at him longer something bad would happen. As though he harbored some kind of disease. As though he was a disease. Harry caught their eyes. He knew who they were.

He sank back into his chair, but could not resume his stupor. His mind was too awake, too electric with thought.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry awoke to the sound of birds calling. He could hear Ginny getting ready for her secretarial work in their small room. He hauled his large frame out of bed, and put on his round glasses. Slowly, the world began to focus. He ate silently and kissed his wife goodbye. She felt the coarse stubble on his face. She left, and Harry was alone. He took out his bag and walked to the fields. His legs were strong, as were his arms. He scratched his arm absent mindly, not bothering too look or give his body much thought. He reached the fields and worked long hours.

He spoke to Krum. He spoke about his despair. Krum understood. They were kin, not in blood but in mind. And perhaps that force was stronger. Perhaps the similarities in mind were able to overcome the differences in blood. They sat in the dark library. The low flickering yellow light of the candle was gentle, and fitted their words like a glove. The musty books with their ancient law and wisdom were fitting too, as the men spoke of the ancient days, just as their words did. The night grew late but the men did not realize. They were men, flesh and blood. Their hearts beat and pumped red blood through their veins. They were the life amidst the death. The village was not made of flesh or blood. It was made of bone, old, brittle and enduring.

Harry lay next to his wife. He could feel her gravity on the lumpy mattress. He longed for her companionship, her tender touch. His body hungered for her wettness. He swallowed and it hurt. Inside his mouth, a salty taste lingered. He tried to sleep but his mind was too awake. Thoughts flickered inside his skull like the light globe that flickered inside their room. He heard a banging coming from next door. He listened, perhaps for voices. But none came. He slept.

Ginny was speaking to him. Her words were knives that cut his skin. She was angry, frustrated. He was too distant for her. He had become more so in the past few days. She was angry.

When Krum spoke to Harry he spoke of Hermione.

Harry walked to the fields. He thought about his neighbor. He thought about the feel of her skin, so soft and silky. Her body so fluid and supple. Yet so passive.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry came out of his room at the same time as his neighbors. He turned and looked at them. He met the eyes of Cho Chang, yet Romilda Vane averted hers. She would not look at him. Harry could hear Trelawney's baby crying from the other side of his room. His heart rate had elevated. His pams were sweaty. He walked to the fields.

He worked hard, harder than he usually would. He wanted to clear his mind, to feel the darkness and wake up in another time. But he did not. He walked back to his room, his mind uncharacteristically racing. His thoughts coalesced into a sticky fluid, clogging him up entirely. He tried to fight it, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her.

He didn't speak to Ginny that night, and she didn't speak to him. Not while he was in such a mood. He sighed and left his room. He drunk with Krum. Perhaps he had drunk too much. It was so easy. After all his struggles it was so easy to let go. The weight of his mind eased and he came to feel himself beneath. He longed for the hedonistic lifestyle, of a life lived only for pleasure. No consequences. But it wasn't really the lifestyle he wanted, it was her. He lusted for her with all his flesh.

Harry worked long in the fields. It was hot and he was suffering. He collapsed into the ground. The last thing he felt was it's solid presence beneath him. His body stirred. The cool he had anticipated did not come.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry walked to his room. The balcony creaked beneath his feet. He placed the metal key, wet with his sweat, into the rusted key hole. But he did not turn it. He heard a noise coming from the room next door. Her room. They had left the door open. Quickly, Harry looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Perhaps his wife. But this area of the village was deserted. He paced up and down his balcony, before swiftly walking onto the balcony of next door.

He could hear the noise more loudly this time. He knew what sort of noise it was. His heart beat fast. Quietly, he peered around the door and into their room. It had a different layout to his, or perhaps, they had changed the layout to suit themselves.

It was a freestanding bathtub. One of the Victorian ones with the little legs to hold it up. The light was reflecting from its shiny surface. They were inside the bathtub. Cho's pale skin looked milky in the daylight that streamed through the window. Her black hair was strewn carelessly over the edge of the bathtub, cascading down like a waterfall. The bathtub had no water in it. Her eyes were closed and Harry could see faint wrinkles in her eyelids. Her mouth was open in a round o-shape.

Romilda had her head between Cho's legs. From this angle, Harry could see her tongue, flicking in and out of her mouth like a snake, flitting across Cho's clitoris. Harry could see the glistening saliva on Cho's skin. Cho held a plump breast in her hand. The nipple was large and pink. It was wet, as though Romilda had held it in her mouth, played with it with her tongue, eliciting small moans of pleasure from Cho. Romilda had swirled Cho's nipple in her mouth, and Cho had liked it. She seemed to shine almost angelically. Her toes curled over the edge of the bathtub.

Romilda was getting faster, her naked back arched like that of a cat. Cho was getting louder. Her hands moved from her chest and ran themselves through Romilda's knotted hair, holding Romilda's face to her genitals so that her pleasure might last longer. Harry could see her knuckles, white, gripping.

Harry watched the scene, transfixed. As he saw the women there together, he noticed the gentle curves of their figures. Cho's breasts and face, Romilda's arched back and fleshed buttocks. He focused on Cho again. She seemed so heavenly and pure, and Harry longed to touch her, to run his hands gently down her back and around the lump of her bottom, to grip her supple body and hold it still. He wanted to press his face into her hair and hear her moan as he moved. While she was beautiful and Harry desired her desperately, she was passive. She did nothing but recieve pleasure, never returning it. He turned his back and left as he heard Cho scream in orgasm.


	26. Chapter 26

Harry looked at Ginny over the table. He knew that she was oblivious to what he had seen, but she was suspicious nonetheless. He didn't speak to her. What was he to say? He could not tell her how he felt. She wouldn't understand. Or perhaps...the rumours about her and the Muggle man... Harry pushed the thought from his mind. He didn't care if his wife had been unfaithful, he would have been unfaithful too, had he not been restricted to his thought. He didn't tell Krum either, but it was almost as though he didn't need to. Almost as though Krum had already known. As they sat there together, many thoughts were shared in the silence. Harry knew how he had felt about Hermione.

Harry didn't go to work in the fields that day. And that was fine. There was nobody he was accountable too. The village worked with an obvious lack of authority. Everyone worked their bit without complaint, without pay. The load was shared around, as was the food. Resources were not scarce, ambition was. All the villagers, Muggle or wizard were resigned to this life. They didn't mind. It was something after all.

Harry felt bitter in his heart. He had longed for something that wasn't his, something that he couldn't have. She didn't want him anyway. He kicked a pebble on the ground, scratching his arm. He got up and walked to the fields. He didn't want to work. He sat in the shade of the woods nearby. He lay down on the earth. He could see the tops of the trees and beyond them nothing. The sky was blue but Harry knew it was really colourless. And beyond that was the universe. Harry thought about the Earth. He thought about the plants and the animals and all of the micro-organisms. He thought about the fungi and about the air. He thought about it growing, it's immense network of life. How life flowed through the very veins of the Earth. He felt dizzy thinking about it. So he stood up.

Harry walked home to his wife. He looked at her face and thought about her blood. And her brain that lay within her skull, and her mind which lay deeper. He sat with her on their sofa, pulling her body into his arms and pressing it against his own. She curled up lovingly and he pressed their skin together. He could feel her heartbeat against his body, a reminder that she was alive.

Tears slid down his cheeks. Their salt stung as they dripped off his face and landed on the markings on his arms. Harry closed his eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

Ginny and Harry spoke to each other. They spoke the truth, however painful it might cut the other. He spoke of his feelings but not what had caused them. When she spoke to him her words cut his fleshy soul like a knife easily slides through the meat of an animal. And he let it hurt.

Harry drunk with Krum. He held the grimy glass, laced with his fingerprints and raised it to his mouth. The liquid burned his throat and he sputtered. Krum patted him on the back. They laughed together too. The whole hearty laughter of men. The air was warm and clung to their cold skin. Harry put an ice cube into his mouth and swirled it with his tongue. Against the heat, the ice was chilling and made his mouth ache. Then it surrendered and melted. He swallowed the water.

Harry went to the fields the next day. It was hot and he stopped his work to wet his parched throat. A dribble of water came out of his bottle. He noticed his arms. He saw the pattern that had formed, extending his arms out in front of him as he stared in shock. The black marks on his skin had formed the shape of fish. It was as though he had fish tattooed over his arms. He blinked and looked again. They were still there. He wondered what Hermione would say if she saw this.

The birds cawed loudly that night, disrupting the gentle atmosphere of the breeze and pleasant air. Their shrieks were magnetic, causing shudders and chills in the bones of the most hearty men. The starlight illuminated Ginny's face, which once had worn beauty carelessly, and now wore fatigue and exasperation. Her hands were flat and her fingers long knobbly. Her breath was effortless, yet somehow managed to feel labored. Harry still thought she was beautiful, but perhaps Harry was the only one. Ginny gazed up at the stars, transfixed and angry. It was as though she wanted to ask the eternal question to the heavens, demanding the reason for her fate, yet her voice was silent. She went to bed and slept.

They rose early the next morning and Ginny opened the dusty curtains, the gold of her wedding ring glinting as the sun streamed through, happy to be allowed into their lives. Harry watched the dust fall in the sunlight.

They went to Trelawney's for lunch. She seemed more distant that ever. Her floral curtains were even dustier than the ones Ginny had opened that morning. Trelawney potted away in the kitchen and poured them tea with shaking hands. When she lent over Harry to offer him some bread, she smelt of insense. They sat on into the drowsy afternoon. Trelawney served them meat for lunch, but Harry and Ginny politely declined, having already eaten too much sweetened bread. She boiled the kettle on a rusted stove, the knobs loose and the burners grimy. It made a foul smell but she seemed not to notice. Harry couldn't see or hear her baby.

In fact, nobody ever heard or saw Trelawney's baby again.


	28. Chapter 28

Harry came home from the fields early that day. He walked back alone, deeply immersed in his own thoughts. He watched his feet as he walked, methodically. He passed the door to Cho and Romilda's room and he heard a voice. It said his name. She said his name. Automatically, he stopped, turned and stepped towards her door. It was open. He stepped again and looked inside.

She was lying naked on the sofa. The natural light from the open window enhanced the milky glow of her skin. Harry could see her smooth buttocks and her supple breasts, dangling sumptuously beheath her. His eyes met hers and he was lost in their blue depths momentarily. She had been waiting for him.

In one fluid movement she rolled over onto her back. He stepped further into the room. She spread her legs invitingly and Harry could see the glistening sticky fluid between them. His heart pounded and he began to reach out for her. Then he stopped.

He didn't want Cho Chang. Harry turned and stepped out of her room.

She stood up and tried to follow him, calling out his name once again. He stopped and turned around to look at her face. She tried to smile, tried to make herself desirable, rather than appearing desperate. He looked through her, not really paying any attention to her. Past her, he could see a small pool of her wettness that had dripped from between her legs and accumulated on the sofa.

He walked back to the fields hurriedly. It was getting late and Harry could see the sun setting over the hill, the red and pink lights spilling out and over the sky. The woods were darkening slowly, and the low light gave Harry an eerie and foreboding feeling. He swallowed and his throat stung. Harry walked into the woods, his mind erratic with thoughts hazy. He felt as though he was asleep, plunging into a dream of his own doing that he couldn't control, but he knew that he was awake. He walked with no purpose and no path. He didn't care. He simply walked.

Finally, he saw a silvery glow. He turned towards it, as if he was drawn to it magnetically. Harry could almost feel some mysterious force flowing around him, in the very air he breathed into his lungs, the energy entered him.

Then he saw it. It was beautiful, the silvery mane and the pearly white skin. It's horn was long and old. Harry walked up to the unicorn and placed his hand on its shoulder. It did not resist, it simply stood. Perhaps it had been waiting for him, perhaps not. Harry ran his hands over its fur, and felt himself calm. His breathing slowed. It was so beautiful. Salty tears ran down Harry's cheeks. He cried like a child.


	29. Chapter 29

When Harry opened his eyes the unicorn had gone. He sniffed his runny nose and wiped it on his sleeve. He looked around but nobody had seen him crying. He stood up and walked around, unsure of where he was. It was eerily dark and his heart pounded loudly. The tree trunks were barely visible in front of him, reaching up toward the sky like gnarled fingers. The floor of the woods was padded with dead leaves and Harry walked silently.

He rounded a corner and came out in a clearing. It was lighter here and he could see better in the milky glow of the moonlight. Harry looked around nervously. In tbe middle of the clearing was a pond. Harry hadn't seen a pond in years, mostly they just evaporated in the extreme heat. He walked up to it and touched the water with his fingertips. It was warm, like the air and Harry had trouble distinguishing where the air finished and the water began. Harry peered into the pond. He could see something moving in its depths. He squinted, his glasses slipping down his nose. The pond was very deep but whatever was causing the movement was swimming up towards him. And then he saw them. Silvery green fish. The same ones that had fallen from the sky. The same fish that he had buried underneath his balcony. The same fish which had inexplicably appeared on his arm.

Harry watched them as they swam gracefully. Mesmerized, he dared not divert his eyes. He put his whole arm into the water. Then, Harry began to take off his clothes. He removed them all and placed them carefully beside the pond. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly. Then he jumped in. The water was warm and enclosed his body like a glove. When he came up to breathe he found the boundary between the water and the air blurred, and difficult to distinguish. He could feel the fish swimming around his feet, brushing against him occasionally. Their glittering scales felt like silk against his skin.

Harry floated on his back and watched the moon. The felt suspended in nothingness as though the two fluids had merged into one. As though his naked body hung limply and vulnerable on the precipice of some wonder. He closed his eyes and felt the water. It was wet and clinging, a sensation he had not felt for a long time. Time passed but Harry could not tell how much. It was deadly silent in the woods. After a while, Harry could see the sky getting lighter and new that it was nearing dawn.

He put his clothes on carefully. He looked around and now that there was more light, he could make out the edge of the woods. He began to walk and came out at the fields where he worked. Harry started work early that day. He had not eaten but he was not hungry.


	30. Chapter 30

Harry worked hard in the unrelenting heat. His mind was empt, free of any thought. I usual circumstanceshe would be worried about what his wife might say, after all he had been out all night. But not today. The sun was hot and Harry could feel sweat dripping off his muscular frame. Sweat dripped off his brow and landed on his patterned arm. It stung sharply. Harry felt dizzy and the crops swum in his vision he raised his hand but his knees were weak. They buckled and Harry collapsed. His vision went black.

Harry woke up, expecting to feel the relief of cool air. He didn't. Surprisingly he actually felt hotter. He gasped and vomited. Doubling over, he stared at a pool of his own sick. He stood up and looked around. He was in the fields, but things were different. The woods were dead, the trees like bone, bare and starved. Harry put on the invisibility cloak, covering himself, and walked down to the village.

Harry would not have believed it possible but they buildings looked worse than usual. The paint that had been newly painted yesterday was cracked and faded. There was no grass, only dirt. He walked to his room.

He was there, on the balcony alone. It was him but at the same time it was not him. He was older. His hair had faded, his face creased, and his clothes more ragged. He looked straight ahead, unblinking. Harry turned. He could make out a figure, walking slowly but steadily towards him. Recognition dawned and he stared and his heart skipped a beat. It was Hermione.


	31. Chapter 31

She looked older, wearer, but when she spoke it was still the same. She greeted him as an old friend. His older self smiled. She sat down on the balcony and began to talk.

"We're leaving Harry," she said, her tone even and emotions hidden.

"All of us?" Harry asked, not looking at her.

"Yes all of the wizards, and Muggles too."

Harry stared at nothing.

"All of the Muggles?" he asked.

"Yes Harry," replied Hermione in her familiar, brisk voice. "There aren't as many of them as you think. The wars and the Extreme Weather Events took their toll and their reliance on elecricity now days means that many of them can't cope when there's a blackout."

The future Harry nodded, whilst Harry under the invisibility cloak wondered what a blackout was.

"You too, Harry, come with us." Hermione looked a him the face fiercely.

"No," he responded quietly.

"But Harry, Ginny's going."

Harry shook his head. Under the cloak, Harry wondered where Viktor Krum was. He thought he would have been happy to see Hermione.

"Harry this is state of the art stuff. I've been collaborating with the Muggles for years to build this ship, it's going to find us a new planet. And we'll all go, together, as one race, because climate change is all our problem. And you're coming too," she implored.

Again Harry responded, "no."

She shook her head, her hazel eyes searching his face for understanding.

"You know you'll die." It was a statement, not a question, said flatly in honesty.

"Yes I know," replied Harry.


	32. Chapter 32

Hermione swore. Harry had never heard her swear before. Translucent tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her face silently. His future self, held her, his arms around her back. She sobbed into his chest. They sat there for a while, the history of their past overcoming the differences of their present. She moved slightly and he let go of her.

"Pull your sleeves up Harry," she ordered him. Harry stared at her defiantly.

"Harry," she said in a voice wet from all her tears.

He rolled up his ragged sleeves and exposed his patterned arms. He watched the shock on her face.

"What is it?" he asked, honestly. She touched his arm with her slender unringed fingers, running them along his skin tenderly, with the gentleness of a healer.

"I don't know," she said in a distant voice. She looked at his eyes and he looked back. She turned and left.

Harry watched himself sit on the balcony, his expression unreadable. He sat and stared, even as his weeping wife staggered up the stairs and into their room. Then he went inside and left Harry alone. Under the cloak, he kicked a stone with his foot. Then he slowly walked back to the fields.

Harry sat in the field, silent and unmoving. As he sat the day drew to a close, but he did not respond to acknowledge this. The air was still and everything was silent. He lay down, curling himself up into the fetal position. He felt the earth, hard beneath his cheek. He rested upon it and closed his eyes, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	33. Chapter 33

Harry woke up, dazed and groggy. He looked around, trying to get some bearing as to what time he was in. The woods were alive. He was back. He staggered to his feet, Ginny would be worried. He walked back. There was too much to think about, so he thought about nothing.

Ginny wasn't there when he came back. He sat alone in the room, watching the dust fall in the sunlight that peeked in the window. He made himself some tea, listening to the rough creak of the metal kettle on the stove. He drank and thought about nothing. Harry lay down on the bed, and looked up at the cracks on the ceiling.

Ginny came home. She didn't speak. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hands shook. He didn't care. He didn't care what she thought about him. He left, wandering the village. So many people had given up, left, never to return. He walked past Viktor Krum's library and gazed absently into the window. He couldn't see Krum inside, but no doubt he was gazing back. He walked on. He passed Romilda Vane, walking on the other side of the road. She scowled at him.

Harry liked to walk. He liked the feel of the rough earth beneath his feet and the crunch of the dry grass and vegetation. It was satisfying. Harry walked home.

It was an uneasy night. The wind howled through the rickety buildings, screaming like a banshee. The heavens rumbled ominously, and forks of lightning reached down to touch the Earth, igniting the dry plants. They burned. The smoke wafted over the village. It stung Harry's throat and he coughed and sputtered. The night raged on, indifferent to its human inhabitants. Sheet lightning flashed like a strobe and Harry saw snippets of action in the village. He made his way back to the lumpy bed, and lay himself down beside his wife. Her eyes were closed, but Harry knew that she was not asleep.

Harry walked around the cemetery the next day. It was a rough job, the headstones stuck out at weird angles. Every once in a while he would gaze at the names. Many of them were familiar to him. He walked, kicking the dust. Lavender Brown. He walked further, his mind slowly dawning. Padma Patil with a fresh headstone. Something was different. Vernon Dursley. His heart stopped. He realised what was different. The birds had gone. He thought about his Uncle, and wondered about the rest. Petunia must be dead.

Harry slept deeply that night.


	34. Chapter 34

Harry missed the birds. He missed their calls. Now all he had was the memory of them. A memory to remind him of the old days, the better days, the halcyon days. So much he had once had was reduced to memory. The life he had thought he would lead was gone, a distant dream lost in the fog of life.

He worked long and hard in the fields. He didn't speak to Ginny about what happened the night he didn't return home. He didn't speak to her much at all. She scowled at their neighbors but Harry never looked at Cho and nor did she look at him. The nights were hot and insufferable than ever, and often punctuated with yells, flashes of magic and the tinkling smashes of glass. The Muggles tended to leave them alone now. Perhaps they regarded Hogsmede as a lost wizard community, clinging desperately to its past as it slipped inevitably away from them. And perhaps this was true.

Harry went to drink with Krum. More often now days they drunk in silence, but Harry enjoyed his company. He knew that behind the heavy brow of the Bulgarian was a lost man, who missed the comfort of the sport that made him famous, of the land of his birth, of the girl who eluded him. Harry didn't speak to Krum about seeing Hermione in the future.

He worked long and hard and eventually the days began to pass more gently. When he awoke he was indifferent, rather than disappointed that he had woken in this time. His hands dominated his mind and as he worked his inner demons were silenced. His thoughts were empty. He was empty.

It was a dark night. Harry drunk in the bar. It was poorly lit, grimy and dusty. The alcohol was strong. The bar was noisy, the shouts of wizards slicing through the air like gunshots. The bang of wood on wood. Sitting next to Krum, Harry smelt the thick air. It smelt of human, of breath, of men. A brawl had broken out. Wizards clawing at each other's faces, throwing each other across tables. One man gingerly raised his hand to his face, shakily inspecting his bloody fingertips. Bloodshot eyes and an eternity of secrets to avenge. They left the bar and fought in the streets. Wands brandished, flashes of light, red and green.

It was crowded and Harry was drawn into the melee. He stumbled blindly. Screams pierced the night. Women huddled over children, ushering them away from the violence, hands covering their wide eyes. Women watching their husbands fearfully from windows. Women in heels and dirty dresses, lingering on street corners, their artificial faces crude under the artifical lights.

Slowly, the brawlers scattered, leaving the bodies behind. Harry walked down the dark street, a paper fluttering in the warm night air. It was quiet now, and still. The energy was gone. Tomorrow the village would wake to what it had done, to its consequences, whether they liked it or not. Tonight had been bad. People would leave, go elsewhere, and probably starve. Harry walked slowly. The alcohol had left his veins now, left him feeling as empty as he had before. The wailing wheels of a train echoed out. Wailing, lamenting, a sad song for the dead. Still Harry walked.

He passed a body and peered into their face, hoping that it would not be familiar. He passed another and another. Then he saw him. He lay outside the library. His stocky body now a feeble rag on the street. Harry fell to his knees beside him. He could not cry. He was too empty, the night had drained his emotions. He stared forlornly into the vacant eyes of Viktor Krum, curling himself into a ball as he lay, like a child, on the street beside him.


	35. Chapter 35

Harry buried the body of Viktor Krum. He dug for days in the cemetery. He hauled his heavy body across the village and rolled it into the hole. Harry stared down into it. He almost couldn't bring himself to shovel the earth back in. His only real friend for years now sat at the bottom of a hole, and he would have to cover him up. And when he was covered he would decompose. And all the molecules that once made up his body would pass through the body of other life. And the other life would use this energy, but waste it too. Heat would escape. They already had enough heat. Harry wiped his brow and covered Viktor's body with dirt. He sat beside the grave. He could feel the sun as it passed above him and then retreated down to the horizon. Finally, Harry picked up his wand. He fashioned a headstone from magic and it marked the body of his friend.

Harry didn't notice his wife. He didn't notice as she cooked him food and placed it into his limp hands. He did not notice her own bloodshot eyes, her runny nose, her face wet from tears. His grief was so raw and bitter. It stung him. It welled up inside him, trying to force its way out of his throat. Until Harry succumbed and screamed and sobbed until his throat was raw. The noise rung out, a human noise.

Harry went back to work in the fields. He worked long hours. He didn't care. Harry stopped and reached into his bag for his water. As he turned his head he saw the woods. The leaves had become feeble and orange. It was beginning to look like the woods he had seen in the future. He stopped his work and walked inside. Partly, Harry wanted to get lost. Lost inside so that he couldn't get out, so that he didn't have to face life anymore. And he wanted to swim in the pond. He wanted to feel the water. He wanted to feel it on his skin, in his mouth, his lungs. Harry walked on, unsure if he was walking the right way.

He came to the clearing. It was different to when he had come last time. Now, instead of a pond, Harry saw a pit. The water had gone. It was empty. Harry walked over to it, peering over the edge. He recoiled in surprise. At the bottom of the pit were the fish, alive. They flopped around on top of each other, suffocating. Harry felt unnerved by the squelching noise they made as they jumped all over each other. He walked back, lost in the stupor of his thoughts. He stopped abruptly when he heard the sharp crack of a twig breaking. He looked around wildly and thought he saw a flash of white. Perhaps he was dreaming. Harry walked back to the fields.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry worked hard in the heat, and was drenched in sweat. He shivered. He felt dizzy and fell to the ground. He knew what was coming.

He opened his eyes groggily and vomited. Then he stood up and wrapped the invisibility cloak around him. It clung to his sweaty limbs and Harry felt sticky. Then he walked back to his room. He was there, sitting on his balcony with Hermione. They wore different clothes. It was a different day. She cradled a cup of tea in her hands, her face lowered and her back bent. She spoke to him.

"There's still time to change your mind, you know," she said. Harry felt that she was speaking more to herself, than to him. She didn't look at him, staring out into the middle distance as he had done before.

"I'm not changing my mind Hermione." Harry felt a rush of nostalgia, as though Hermione was trying to prevent him from carrying out some foolish plan at Hogwarts.

"I didn't think we could do it, you know," she said, turning to face him this time. "I didn't think the Muggles would want to work with us, after the wars and all. But they did. They are quite remarkable, the Muggles. Their science is quite ingenious. Their feats of engineering without magic. Although, Bill and Fleur helped them quite a bit with thus project, in the testing and all that."

Harry only half listened, he watched Hermione intently. The familiarity of her face. She sighed a sigh of the wisdom. She took the future Harry's hand and they walked.


	37. Chapter 37

They walked down the street, the rocky unsealed road crunching beneath their feet. The walked passed the shops, passed the mothers restraining squealing children. Passed the families loading their belongings onto broomsticks or hauling bulging suitcases onto cars. They passed the shop and the cleric office where Ginny worked. They kept walking. They walked passed the bar, it's windows covered by paper, the glass long since smashed. They passed Krum's library. Hermione looked tentatively into the window, and stepped cautiously inside. She walked up and down the rows of books, running her slender fingers along them. Harry thought he heard her sniff. Perhaps it was the dust.

They walked down the lonely road, that was once bustling with witches and wizards, once a hub of activity that was now a strip of ground, bare and desolate. They walked in silence and they walked alone. They reached the train station and sat on an old wooden chair, its red paint faded and peeling. A slight breeze ruffled their clothing, with paper bags fluttering along the platform, in a dance. The sky was grey and so was the ground.

"Please Harry," said Hermione earnestly, looking into Harry's eyes so that he could not turn away. "Everyone's going."

Harry looked back at her. "Even Ron?" he asked in a quiet voice.

It was Hermione's turn to look away. "Yes, even him."

Harry was silent for a time, and then began to speak again. "You know I'm not coming Hermione."

She looked at him hard, her eyes seeking some kind of explanation from his worn face. But it gave none.


	38. Chapter 38

Hermione began to cry. Fat tears slid down her face and her body shook. Harry held her, in a comforting embrace. He didn't want her to be sad. Younger Harry watched in silence, his ears ringing. They stood for a while, oblivious of anything going on around them, oblivious of the future, and of the past. Oblivious of the universe as they held each other, friends until the very end.

Hermione let go of Harry. She straightened up and blew her nose on a white and red checkered handkerchief. She picked up her heavy bag and stood next to Harry, waiting for the train that would separate them forever. Other families joined them on tbe platform, ready to make the journey out, beyond. Harry saw the train coming, a small speck on the horizon, it grew nearer to them at a gradual pace. Slowly, it ground to a halt in front of the platform. Hermione looked at Harry with swimming eyes. She said goodbye and kissed him on his cheek. Harry said goodbye. She boarded the train. And slowly, she was gone.

The younger Harry fell down. It was a slow fall, not a collapse. The ringing in his ears intensified. Harry thought he could see flashes of black in his vision. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Harry felt as though he was being squeezed around the middle. It was an unpleasant sensation. The black was encroaching until it was all he could see. The squeezing sensation drew up toward his throat, he couldn't breathe. The ringing was louder, until suddenly, release. He was back in the present. Harry knew then.


	39. Chapter 39

Harry knew that, never again would he be able to travel to his past or his future. He didn't care. He was empty. Perhaps he didn't want to see these things. Harry wished he could have said goodbye to Dumbledore. A proper goodbye, the one he never had the chance to give all those years ago. But he couldn't.

Harry walked back to his room. He threw himself lazily on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. He felt like moping about all day, he didn't care about the consequences, didn't care what his wife thought. After all, who was going to care when he was the last remaining person? But he was not yet, and knew that he had to live with people, or learn to live with them at the very least.

So he went back to his wife. He gave his whole self back to her. He knew that at some point in the future, they would never see each other again. And he did love his wife. Not a fiery hot love, but a love that was warm and slow. The warmth of two cold fingers held together. The slow strides of a love that was once so sweet and heady that had mellowed to something more soft and savory.

So Harry went to work in the fields and came home each night to his wife, to feel her warmth slowly seep into his soul. He smile was old but true. And while people in the village came and went they stayed together, as though their fates were intertwined, but Harry knew that they were not.

Cho Chang left Romilda Vane. She left in the middle of the night, quietly and cowardly. Romilda evidently hadn't done enough to satisfy her undying lust. Her milky face so seemingly innocent and pure which held beneath it a red soul, pulsating with the pleasure she craved. Romilda drunk. She had not taken it well. She drunk away her sorrows, but they remained as raw and bloody as ever.

Sybil Trelawney died in her sleep. Her old withering body was carried out by Harry and his wife. Her body lay like a husk in the brown dirt as they buried her in a humble grave. Her spindly frame was haunting to Harry. Like looking at a cicada shell with no body left inside it. No life inside. A hot breeze blew steadily and Harry pulled Ginny into his chest. She leaned against him and he stroked her auburn hair lightly. It was smooth but not particularly soft. Like her.

Skirmishes broke out. Old wounds reopened. Muggles torched some of the crops and they burnt ferociously. The orange flames licked and lapped up everything in their path, consuming it and leaving the ash. And the hot wind blew up the ashes and spread them over the landscape. Children breathed them in and coughed them out of their lungs.

Life went on.


	40. Chapter 40

The cow was pregnant. It's belly heavy and fat, squirming with the new life it held.

Harry walked in the forest. He was trying to find the dry pond, trying to find some sign of what it all meant. His head was full of clouds, that flitted in and out, translucent and not entirely substantial. The forest was dying. He could feel it around him, in the very air that he breathed, the air that clung to his body and the wind that ruffled his loose fitting clothing. An electric buzz of the decaying forest. Harry walked over the leaf litter and it crunched satisfyingly under his heavy feet.

The pond was no longer empty when he found it. He didn't understand, the rest of the forest was dying, so why should the pond remain alive? It seemed smaller than before. Harry peered in to the dark depths through the dark blue water. He could see the fish swimming in the depths and he longed to jump in to reach them. He watched them swim slowly and in circles. Their movements seemed rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Harry watched the fish. The water level in the pond seemed to be slowly falling, and it fell with an even greater pace the longer that he watched. The water from the pool was draining somewhere, but Harry could not see anywhere that it was going. Finally, it was empty and Harry looked down into the pit. He felt queasy and ill in his stomach. The pit was a lot shallower that he had realised. Perhaps the depth was part of an illusion. Harry couldn't tell anymore. His dreams were so real and vivid, he couldn't tell reality from illusion.

There were no fish at the bottom of the pond, only their silvery scales, glinting in the light and sparkling like jewels. Harry longed to pick them up, but he resisted. Harry made his way out of the forest. There was nothing there for him. He walked and came across the body of the unicorn, lying across the path he trod. It was dead and the flesh was rotting away. The eyes of the unicorn were glassy and lifeless, yet crawling with bugs and flies. Harry could hear them buzzing uncomfortably. Greedy centipedes crawled over the white fur of the unicorn. Harry walked away quickly.

Ginny seemed to be enjoying his company. He was glad of this, but knew deep down in his heart that it was only temporary. But then again, wasn't everything temporary? This truth lingered on within him, always on the tip of his tongue, lurking in the corners of his mind.

The cow gave birth to a baby horse.


	41. Chapter 41

Harry lay on his back. It was hot, but he was not uncomfortable. A warm breeze fluttered gently and he felt calm, content, alone.

Harry remembered. He remembered how he had swum in the lake, swum with the sparkling fish, the ethereal voices of the mermaids, their singing with such beautiful, poisonous clarity. Harry rested his head back on the ground. He was tired. He looked up at the sky. It was a deep bloody red. Stars sparkled and the moon hung placidly, a round orb. Something moved beside him. A snake that slithered lazily over his feet.

Harry rolled over on his side, into the fetal position. Harry could feel the plants around him growing. He could hear them growing. Around him, Harry could see the buds opening up into flowers. Harry looked at his arm. The fish pattern was blurred and smudged, as though the ink that had drawn it was wet. The ink began to run, leeching out of his arm and onto the ground below. The ground it touched sprung to life with greenery and small pale pink flowers. Harry could smell their heady perfume and breathed in their air deeply.

With his ear pressed against the Earth, he could hear it's heartbeat a slow, steady throb. He felt his own pulse. They beat in unison, a heavy pulse.

The last breath left his body and his heart beat one final time. Harry died. A child of the universe.


End file.
